by Bloom, Anna
Gerard is waiting, his brown brogues tapping impatiently. “Bloody hell, Faith. Are you ever on time for anything?”
I shoot him a killer glare. “Some of us have to move house first thing on a Monday morning.”
“Wha—” he starts to ask, but then his expression clears. “Faircloughs.” His expression says it all.
“Bastards. They are determined to make me run.”
“You’re still here.” He arches an eyebrow.
“Yep. Still here.”
“How was Elijah this morning? It's Lewis’ mother's trial today isn’t it?”
For a moment I hesitate. I’m not used to this; everyone knowing everything, but then I’ve never let this many people into my life before. You can’t have secrets and walls when you are welcoming the world in. Isn’t that what Al was always telling me?
“He was okay. Confident I think.” My early morning coffee just this morning seems a long time ago. I’ve been moving house since then.
Gerard and I both smile as we walk towards Miriam Lancaster, the head of acquisitions at the Tate. I know she’s keeping a keen eye on how the project is developing.
Except it’s not developing. I’ve done nothing. Life hasn’t even given me a chance to breathe, let alone think of how we can turn the Bowsley art experiment into a viable media platformed event. Hell, I don’t even know if anyone would want to watch a programme about art anyway. Don’t people catch Dragons' Den, or The Apprentice… shows where there is actually something to lose at the end of it, or something to gain. Sure, the winner of Art Off, or whatever we call it, will an all-expenses paid art degree, but who gives a shit about that? The public won’t.
“Faith, so glad you could make it. I know you’ve had some deeply distressing family events the last few weeks.” I shake Miriam’s hand firmly.
“It’s been interesting. I hope it hasn’t put us behind.”
She waves her hand and then gestures down to one of the elevators. “Not at all. Angela and her team have been busy building the set.”
“Oh?” I sneak a glance at Gerard who looks way too innocent for my liking. “The set is being built already? That seems quick.”
“Well we hope to start filming in December.”
I nearly trip over my own feet. “December?”
Miriam smiles at me, but it’s not malicious or demeaning. “Of course, the sooner the better. I hoped you’d be ready to interview applicants within the next couple of weeks.”
I shake my head slowly. “Uh, sure. I guess when I think of the Bowsley project, I think of sunshine and long summer days. December feels depressingly stark by contrast.”
“That’s interesting you feel it as seasonal.”
“Oh no. I don’t mean my own art is seasonal. I guess just the idea of teaching and learning. Ignore me, I’m speaking nonsense.”
Miriam has paused outside a wide set of black double doors. “And well, you did say you wanted to draw attention to the underbelly of London.”
I nod slowly. “That I did.”
With a flourish she pushes open the doors. My mouth falls open as the view from the other side begins to make sense.
The ceiling is carved into the arches of a bridge. Black and cavernous, the space is enormous. “Wow.” I step in. “I haven’t ever seen anything like this.” I stare up at the curve of one of the arches.
“Well, you have. You're the one who suggested we use the homeless theme to help bring awareness to poverty in our greatest city.” Miriam turns bright eyes onto me. “All your viewers will experience the desperation of the homeless while watching the determination of your contestants.”
“Artists.” I correct.
She smiles and I begin to realise that while Miriam Lancaster and I may look very, very different; we aren’t all that unlike one another. “Artists. Anyway, this is all foam and fibreglass, but hopefully it will prove an inspirational backdrop.”
“I’m sure it will.” Gerard and I step in further and take it all in.
Am I really going to stand here and be filmed by cameras? At some point very soon, someone is going to realise I don’t have a clue what I’m talking about.
“I need a co-presenter.”
Gerard meets my eyes; he bloody wishes… and no.
“That’s what I thought.” A voice calls from behind and I turn to find Angela in grey and denim. She steps up and kisses my cheek. “I thought we could start interviewing next week.”
“Didn’t Elijah say you asked him?” It seems such a long time ago now, but it could only have been a few weeks.
“Yes, but this is happening faster than we thought, and you and Elijah Fairclough are engaged now. Do you want the pressure of a show, as well as a Fairclough wedding? You might never make it down the aisle.” The woman has a point.
My stomach drops, which is ridiculous because I hadn’t even given it any thought until right up to this point. She’s right though. With everything he’s been through, this could be one strain too many, and I don’t want him to suffer any more than he has. At least I can protect him from that.
With a nasty ache in my stomach, I remember what else I need to talk to them about. Brighton. Things have changed now, and I need to grow up and deal. I can’t run away anymore, but I can walk away if it’s the right thing to do.
“Anyway.” I shake my head, let’s not talk about co-presenters now. “I need to speak to all of you. In private would be better.”
I swallow hard and meet Gerard’s gaze. This honesty stuff is tough going.
“Sure, let’s go to my office.” Miriam points back to the double doors and we all follow her towards them. Without talking, Gerard steps up to my side and grasps my fingers, squeezing them tight.
I’m waiting outside the law courts, sat in the dark of the MG when my phone rings. It’s been a long, traumatic day: the move, which Eli doesn’t even know about; the meeting and me having to be honest about what happened to me in Brighton and the fact I’m now a witness in what could be a legal prosecution. All these bloody grown up things I never expected.
It wouldn’t have been fair not to tell them and for the press to then get wind of the scandal. I’m not learning much from the Faircloughs, apart from how to bring out my inner mega bitch, but I am learning scandal is better when handled.
Look at me for fuck's sake. I’m a walking talking scandal waiting to blow.
“Hi?” I glance up at my reflection in the rear-view mirror.
“I’m running so late, forgive me.” His voice literally melts my insides.
“Nothing to forgive. How was court?”
There’s a beat of silence. “Hard. It’s a mudslinging match, with the prime objective being who can make the most mud stick.”
“Was Philip there?” I hate the thought of Lewis’ mild-mannered dad listening to his wife’s name being dragged through the mud, because it will be.
I already know that’s what will happen to me if Aiden ever gets taken to trial. His lawyer will find out everything there is about me. Every single thing I’ve done wrong will be aired for all to hear. For a moment I blindly stare out of the windscreen of the car. I have nothing to hide. I have to remember that.
“He was, and Lewis.”
There’s a faint sound of a key locking a door from Eli’s end of the phone.
“That must have been hard.”
He sighs. “It was. It’s one thing knowing the family are listening, hearing everything as it comes out in the opening statements. But it’s something else when it’s someone you know, and care about.”
“And you wanted to be my lawyer?” I snort. “You’d be crazy.”
“Maybe.” His voice pitches with that low depth he gets that makes me get all warm and uncomfortable in places I don’t want to be when I’m sat in his vintage car. “Where are you? I’ll be home soon. I’m just leaving. I’ll grab a cab.”
He walks out through the gates and waves at the guard on duty. His eyes fall on the gleaming sports car and he smi
les wide. I watch as the worries and cares that were lining his face as he talked and walked erase with his joy at seeing me.
He loves me.
And I’m only just beginning to realise what that means.
He pulls on the passenger door. “Now this is a cabbie I like the look of.”
I smirk, although on the inside I’m all hot and tingly. Elijah in a suit is mighty fine. Elijah in a suit when he’s tired and his hair is ruffled, and his tie is half undone… well that’s panty melting.
“Where to, sir?” I pretend to doff an imaginary cap.
“Home.” His eyes burn through me. His intent clear.
I nod slowly. Do I tell him home has moved now, or when we get there?
Eight
I’m a chicken. I negotiate the late-night traffic not saying a damn word. Eli’s palm burns through the denim of my jeans. Every so often he slides his hand further up my thigh and it’s all I can do not to crash the damn car.
When we stop outside Chesham Place his focus is so intent on me and the kisses he is teasing up my throat to my earlobe that he doesn’t even realise for a moment where we are.
“What are we doing here?” He gazes up at the pillared glory of our new home.
There is no way to make it better. It’s going to have to be the Band-Aid approach. Quick and brutal.
“We live here.”
His eyes narrow as he turns back to face me. “No. I’m almost entirely sure that this morning I watched you drink your coffee at the black island I had installed in my own kitchen and I was thinking how very much I wanted to fuck you on the marble.
Well now my panties are on fire.
Hold it together, Faith. “Well I checked the kitchen and there is a more than suitable kitchen table, made from oak I believe, not so cold under my butt cheeks.”
He sweeps forward and catches my lips with his own. His tongue teases an entrance and his breath is hot as his hands slide around my chin, capturing me in his kiss.
“You didn’t call.”
I shrug my shoulders, my breath catching a little. I want more of that kiss. I want it all over that damn house, in every room, on every surface. Under his touch I burn like I’m spread on a pyre.
“It was a big day for you. I can handle some removal trucks.” I don’t add that I had to get my best friend up to help. Let’s keep a little mystery in place.
“She did it on purpose. She did it today, so you’d cave under the pressure.”
Leaning forward, I press my lips against his, my hand sliding through his hair, breathing in the scent of us together in the small space of the car. “I didn’t cave.”
He kisses me and it’s like with every movement of his lips he’s telling me a story, telling me how much he loves me, wants me. I know because it’s the same story I’m telling him with every flick of my tongue. Every sigh of breath I exhale.
“Take me inside and make love to me, Eli.”
He turns and gets out of the car and on shaky legs I clamber out of the driver’s side. I’ve so much to tell him: my meetings today, the arrangements I’ve made with Miss Beesley, everything.
But I want him inside me more than anything else.
Need him inside me.
I use our new front door key to unlock the huge shiny black door and then push him against the other side. My fingers pull at his tie, unravelling the rest of the knot. His fingers tangle in my hair, his body hard against mine, strength and desire ready to take me down.
“Bedroom,” he mumbles against my mouth.
“I didn’t choose.” My words are tangled and breathy.
“I’ll pick.” His hikes me up into his arms, my legs wrapping around his waist. “First sodding door I get to.”
He almost runs us up the stairs, and he’s not lying, he goes to the first door on the left of the sweeping staircase. The room is empty, the boxes from the Mews are all still downstairs. In the darkness, lit just by the yellow glow of the street lamps outside, I can make out a bed, and that’s about all. He stalks for the bed, throwing me onto the mattress. My chest thrums wildly. His desire to take me and my need to be taken steals all words from between us.
This is us at our most basic level. A brush of a kiss. A stroke of fingertips, and an overwhelming desire to dive in and never surface again.
I dig my heels into the mattress, and scoot my way further up the bed. He pulls at his shirt, tugging it over his head, and his chest gleams in the soft light. Falling to his knees, he edges his way closer. Between my legs, a painful heat burns and scorches, anticipation running through me like a wild river of hot metal. Slowly, his fingers run down my neck, along my collarbone, and the roses he loves so much, until it drops around the swell of my breast. My nipple hardens from under his touch. Cupping his hand around the back of my neck, he tilts my chin upwards, lifting me so my mouth is against his, my breath pushing my aching breasts into his naked chest.
I want him in me. It aches with intensity.
Giving myself up, I push from his hold and fall back down onto the mattress, raising my hands above my head so he can take me as he pleases.
His hands run under my clothes, loosening the fastenings until he has me naked and under him. When his palm slides firmly down my stomach, and his fingers slide into the tingling nerve endings between my legs, I groan loudly.
“Lay still,” he whispers, dropping further down my body. I can almost sense the weight of his gaze as he watches his fingers slide deep within me. With his other hand he uses his thumb to circle my clit. I moan, but I don’t move, somehow keeping my hips from pushing up and meeting him.
In and out, his fingers torment me until I’m almost sobbing and riding the crest of an uncontrollable orgasm. It builds higher and higher, my moans running into one another as his hands work faster. As I teeter over the edge, he grabs me. Hoisting me up, his hands lift me and plant me on his lap. Freed and with movement tingling in my limbs, Settling down, I loop my hand around his neck while I push him deep inside me. He groans heavily, his forehead resting against mine. I push him so far inside it hurts, but I don’t care. My orgasm—so close only moments before—comes back, sweeping across me, and I arch my back, splintering into thousands of pieces. His palm caresses between the valley of my breasts as our hips rock together in a slow and steady rhythm.
“I love you.” He clutches me closer and I wrap around him tight.
* * *
“I can’t believe you didn’t call me.” Eli shakes his head and glares at the ceiling. His hands are tucked under his head and I’m sprawled across his chest. I’d be happy to stay here forever.
“What was I supposed to say? And anyway, if I’d called you would have worried.”
“I would have blasted my mother out of the bloody universe.”
“Exactly.” I press a kiss against his chest. “And I could handle it, and I want your mother to know that.”
His lips curve into a smile, but the pinched lines still crease the skin around his eyes. “I’m sure she was very disappointed.”
It’s my turn to sigh. “Is it always going to be like this?”
He shrugs, his arms lowering and wrapping me tight into him. “I hope not, but the Fairclough family is a battleground. I’ve never known anything different.”
“I want to stop it. It’s horrible for you.”
He chuckles and brushes a kiss across my forehead. “I love your enthusiasm. But with Mother and Gran it’s easier to just put up and shut up.” Dropping his head, his lips find mine and he distracts me with a delicate kiss that flutters across my lips. “Dare I even ask where my suits are? Or am I turning up tomorrow in the clothes I’ve worn today?”
I grin in the darkness. “I did have the foresight to organise you some clothes, but I didn’t know where to put them, so I hung them in the kitchen.”
“Well, Miss Beesley will be in for a shock tomorrow morning.”
I chuckle and pull him close. I could stay with my mouth and nose pressed against the warm skin of
his chest for hours. “Is it weird being in what was supposed to be Peter’s home?”
“Yes.” He nods, his fingers running across my hair. “But I think it’s weirder knowing this was supposed to be his home and he never lived here. I don’t think I will ever get over the secrets he kept.”
“Maybe he just tried to protect you.”
“Maybe he was protecting himself.”
I roll over and stare at the ceiling. “Doesn’t everyone want to protect themselves?”
“By withholding the truth?”
My fingers grasp his and squeeze tight. “Maybe it was easier for him to be in denial.”
I know he’s watching me closely. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Faith?”
“It’s nothing. I just had to tell Angela and Miriam, and well more people that I’d want to, about my trip to the police in Brighton.”
“You did?” He leans up onto an elbow and trails his fingertips along my side.
“Well, yeah. I had to give them the chance to choose someone else. I don’t know what’s going to happen, or what’s going to come out.”
“The truth, Faith. The truth will come out.” He pecks another brief kiss across my mouth.
I shudder internally. It’s the truth coming out that scares me. What if the truth isn’t what I think it is? What if I got it all wrong?
What if the police think I’m a fraud?
“Faith.” His hand cups my cheek, his fingers sliding into my hair. “Trust me and trust those around you. You’re the right person for the job.”
“They also said they were going to hire me a co-star… I mean, come on. I don’t play well with others.” I have to giggle a little, no matter how heavy my heart is.
“It had better not be a hot guy.”
“You are the only hot guy I am interested in.”
He rolls me over, his kiss harder, deeper, seeking me out and claiming me, and with his kiss I lock all my worries back into their dark box.
